


The last chance

by plaktow



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Developing Relationship, Earth, Kolinahr, M/M, Masturbation, Plot, Reunions, Star Trek - Freeform, Star Trek: TOS, Starfleet Academy, Vulcan - planet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2018-02-10 05:49:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2013414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plaktow/pseuds/plaktow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in TOS Universe, a year after the first 5-year mission of the Enterprise ended. James Kirk has taken a position at the Starfleet Academy, where he teaches and participates in management of the Academy and the Starfleet. He has not heard from Spock since the day the Vulcan left for his home planet. Spock, isolated from his past in T'Khasi, meditates daily to achieve Kolinahr. But old memories haunt both, and a reunion is only a matter of time.</p><p>Also available on KSArchive: http://ksarchive.com/viewstory.php?sid=5564</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

Spock took a deep breath.  He sat cross-legged on the warm ground, placed his palms against his thighs and closed his eyes. His busy mind felt like a nest of bees: buzzing and busy, yet organized and effective. As usual Spock was considering several interesting problems at the same time, calculating, estimating and cross-referencing information he had gathered during his entire life. He never forgot, and he was never unsure. But now was no time to process information. Now was the time to meditate. Slowly and with some regret Spock took another deep breath and emptied his mind.

The wind was blowing from the vast deserts. It licked Spock’s tunic like flame, burned his skin and made his sleeves flutter. That was irrelevant: Spock let his mind ignore the sensation of the soft satin and the warm wind.  The remorseless sun of T’Khasi looked down at him. Its rays kissed Spock’s pale skin and penetrated his eyelids, but they too were ignored. The nictating membranes in Spock’s eyes emerged reflexively to protect his eyesight. The warmth of the sun was an unwanted irritation, so Spock blocked the sensation from his mind. He had no use for such things, not now. All he knew and felt was himself. All he needed was himself.

His tunic rustled quietly in the wind. Spock sat absolutely still, his eyes closed and his face calm. Slowly the burrow between his brows straightened, his jaws relaxed and his shoulders unwound. His mind was silence. Somewhere far away a _dokai_ crowed in a shrill voice, and soon another responded to its call, but the voices of the birds passed Spock’s consciousness entirely. He had no time for such disturbances. In his mind a tiny cube appeared, then another, and he began to build a mental tower to help his focus.

A _hayalit_ , a tiny bug-like lizard crawled over the red rocks of the meditation circle. Its carapace shone in the sunlight as it snuffled in search of prey, scuttered forward and tugged gently at a _dokai_ feather laying on the ground. A gust of wind grabbed the feather and pulled it from the _hayalit_ ’s mouth. The animal let out a frustrated hiss. It climbed a strangely soft obstacle, covered in black canvas, and curiously munched on the chewy material. Its teeth made tiny holes to the canvas, but soon the animal spat it out and decided to try the shiny, soft and light satin instead. It fluttered interestingly in the wind. The _hayalit_ took an experimental bite, but this thing too proved unedible. Disappointed at the menu the _hayalit_ crawled down Spock’s calf, climbed over his ankle and stumbled back to the ground. Its thick tail left a swirling mark on the ground as the animal continued his search for food. Spock never noticed his visitor.

The cube in Spock’s mind was no longer a four-sided building block. Instead he now imagined them as dodecahedrons, pieces with 12 faces, which he used to build a tower. If a single disturbing thought or the merest flicker of an emotion crossed his mind the tower collapsed. It had done so 34 times by now, but only five times with the dodecahedrons. Spock’s mind calculated that the volume of the pieces in his tower was currently 8 765,54321 square liters. The information was useless. In his mind Spock saw the tower crumble, so he wiped his mind clean and started all over. One dodecahedron. Two. Was it getting hot in here? A disturbance: no dodecahedrons.

When the Vulcan sun was just a finger’s width above the horizon Spock stirred for the first time in hours. His eyelids fluttered, the nictating members retreated and slowly he opened his eyes.  The meditation had been a good one. For a long time he had been in complete control of his mind, blocking what he wanted to block and focusing only to what he wanted to focus on. Being in control was the essence of being a Vulcan. Outsiders thought it was about doing away with emotions, but that would have been the death of the entire race. Emotions were necessary to ensure survival of the species. Mere sense was not enough to make mothers tend to their offspring or for relatives to support a slow learner, who, logically, should’ve been destroyed to save valuable resources. Emotions were useful, but like everything else, they must be controlled.

That was what Spock aimed at. That is why he had even today sat still in the secluded meditation area of his mansion until the dust had piled up against his body. For countless days before this one he had sat there building his mental towers, and he would continue to do so until his mind was pure. He had to find control. No, finding wasn’t enough: he’d have to find control and make it the only possible option he had. Slowly he flexed his fingers and arms. He was strong and agile, both good traits but dangerous if used in a whim of a powerful emotion. When Spock got up from the ground his each muscle worked in perfect unison, and he moved like water. Control over mind was one thing, but control over his body was necessary as well. For a second Spock was pleased with his body and prowess. Then he snuffed out the feeling like it was a fluttering flame: pleasure and pride were useless to him. He’d work on this emotionalism tomorrow.

Now that Spock allowed his mind to listen to his body he realized just how hungry he was. A servant of his father’s House was sent to prepare a light dish for him while Spock browsed through his messages for the day. The computer screen was the only item on his desk and provided just enough light to see the dull plate brought before him. A plain plate with plain food. Only those herbs and spices which were essential to his body were used, which sometimes made the traditional Vulcan foods even duller than the ones produced by Starfleet’s standard replicators.

Spock stopped for an instant. He didn’t even breathe, he simply listened to himself. Somewhere deep, deep inside his brain there was that tiny pain he feared he’d find. The pain was there every time he thought of the Starfleet, which was illogical, since his time in the service had been most productive and useful. There were thoughts that caused even more distress, but Spock had learned to avoid them. Chewing his tasteless food Spock wondered about this. Was it due to his human genes that these pleasant memories caused discomfort while much more undesirable events did not?

His musings were interrupted suddenly when one of the servants rushed into the room in her black livery. The embroidery of the sigil of the House of Sarek was nearly invisible in the dim light. ‘The _odva-dvinsu_ T’Shara asks to see you, _Osu_ Spock,’ she said desperately, knowing that the acolyte _asked_ to see no one and would simply come in at any moment. Common courtesies were not for the acolytes of Gol, who watched over those trying to obtain _Kolinahr_. And sure enough: the acolyte entered Spock’s study without permission, greeted him cordially and simply asked Spock to give her his thoughts.

Spock had no chance but to suppress the irritation he felt at this intrusion and to forget his strange memories. As he expected, the acolyte performed the mind-meld, nodded and walked away without saying a single word on how Spock was progressing. She never did. Spock had to know himself when he was ready.

That night Spock stayed awake, busied himself with House business and physical exercise, and spent not a second thinking about the life he had left behind when he resigned from the Starfleet.

***

James Kirk sat alone in his quarters at the Starfleet Academy. He adjusted the brightness of the computer screen, tried to get a better position on his uncomfortable chair and continued reviewing the essays of his students. His lips moved as he read, and sometimes his brow furrowed in exasperation.

‘No, that would just overheat the engines and reduce overall power, you oaf… and what’s this about the matter/antimatter mixture? The equation is all wrong!’ Jim muttered to himself, pressed a few buttons and sighed. ‘Sorry and welcome to try the course again later,’ he said and asked the computer to save that as his official reply. This kid had failed the course twice now, and most likely would get kicked out of Starfleet without anyone caring what city his father was the mayor of.

‘Next,’ he commanded the computer and watched as it fetched the exam answers of the next student attending Jim’s course EMEV010: Power-related Emergencies on Starfleet vessels. Jim’s frustration melted to a happy smile after he read the first two lines. The answers by this student were impeccable, as always. And no wonder: the student was a young Vulcan, whose father had been a renowned scientist until his untimely death due to a rapidly progressing illness. The boy was smart and no more arrogant than Vulcans usually were, so Jim expected to see him graduate as the top of his class within a year. The boy was also beautiful, his face elegant like a painting and his body slim yet strong.  His jade green eyes were highly intelligent and his smooth silky hair always neat and clean. The kid brought pleasant memories to Jim’s tired mind.

Spock. Yes, the boy was not so unlike Spock had been years and years ago, when they had attended the Academy together. Spock, too, had been smart and arrogant, but he had worked hard and always succeeded in everything he did. Remembering it made Jim smile, but more sorrowful memories followed.

It had been over a year since Jim had seen Spock last. A year, ten months and six days, exactly. Jim would know the hours and minutes too, if only he knew when exactly Spock’s shuttle had left. That was when their paths had separated: Jim had returned to the Academy, while Spock had greatly disappointed the Starfleet by resigning and returning to his home planet. To Spock it had been just another day. He had packed his belongings, left his official letter of resignation and left. Just like that, without a word to Jim, Scott, Bones or anyone else who had shared the last 5 years with him. To Jim the day had been one of pretending. He had pretended to be happy to be back on Earth, he had pretended to be happy to leave the confinement of the Enterprise, and he had pretended surprise when he was offered a position in the Academy. Most of all he had pretended not to care when Spock had left.

The first seven nights he had stayed awake and stared at the ceiling in his new quarters.  The next two nights he had been too drunk to remember, and then he had slept for an odd number of days and nights. ‘Culture shock,’ the local doctor had said. ‘He was one of the first people to spend five years in space! No wonder he’s stressed to return back to Earth,’ he had explained knowingly while stacking a bottle after bottle of pills before Jim, who had been dragged to the doctor’s office. Jim never took the pills. He knew what ailed him, and there was no drug to cure a broken heart.

The first month at the Academy had been the first. Jim had been assigned a course to teach, and in addition he had several management duties at the Starfleet and in the Academy. The second month had been utter horror as Jim was forced to get used to seeing young men, so much like himself and Spock years ago, wandering around the corridors. But he had swallowed his tears, climbed up to the lectern and given his lectures. After the first six months had gone and Jim had received no word from Spock Jim began to feel better. The most painful memories began to fade, and he found himself cherishing the times they had spent together instead of mourning for the loss of a friend.

A friend? Had Spock been just a friend?

That path was still too painful to walk. Jim ignored it, shook his head and continued with the student essay evaluations.  His mind kept wondering, but he kept trying to focus. Slowly, as the night progressed and the sun began to rise, Jim was again fully concentrated, his brow furrowed and his lips moving silently as he read, evaluated and graded an essay after an essay.


	2. Chapter 2

As the sun began to climb above the horizon once more, Spock was already hard at work. He stood in the training room, at the very edge of the soft rubbery mat, and bowed deeply to his teacher.

‘Again, child. You do not concentrate. You’re not present,’ scolded the teacher. His hair was so light gray it was almost white, his face was wrinkled and he looked like dry hay, ready to snap. When he moved he moved slowly, but somehow he still was always ahead his students, blocking their attacks and attacking himself when the students were still retreating from their previous charge. He had taught Spock’s father, and had Spock any children, he would’ve taught them as well.

Spock emptied his mind of everything else but the old man. There was no room around them, no T’Khasi around the room, no past, no future. There was only this moment, and only one opponent. There was no Starfleet, and no-

The thought was forcefully kicked out of Spock’s mind as he was thrown out of balance and against the wall. The teacher stood before him: a small, fragile old granddad, who had just defeated a man decades his junior. 

‘I will not waste my time with you, child,’ the teacher began, and went on to point out Spock’s faults one by one. He got as far as “taking too much time focusing”, when Spock whirled at him. The teacher evaded like a snake and continued berating his student. This time Spock first faked an attack, but then changed direction and managed to hit the teacher with the side of his palm. Another fake attack would not be advantageous now. It would be expected. Spock changed his tactic and went for a full frontal assault. He didn’t kick or hit: he just moved, flowed from place to another like steam, effortlessly and gracefully. He started a hit, saw the teacher move, changed his tactics while his fist was still moving towards the target, and ended up trying a lock instead of an attack. Spock was not a waste of time. He was not waste of anything.

Relentlessly he pushed on. The teacher had to actually stop speaking, which was a victory in itself. Spock felt a hint of anger somewhere deep in his mind. He pushed it away and continued the dance. There were no emotions. An attack, a dodge, another. There was nothing else. Nothing – except the old man, who now laid on the floor, his hands bound by Spock.

The lesson ended after a few more complaints from the teacher. Spock retreated back to his own rooms, sent the servant to fetch him a light lunch and fetched an actual leather-bound book full of Surak’s teachings. Surak was an old philosopher, who had turned the Vulcan lifestyle upside down with his ideology. The then violent and emotional people had embraced Surak’s teachings of replacing feelings with logic. House Sarek, Spock’s kin, was one of the many great Houses in T’Khasi who still followed those teachings devoutly. His brother Sybok, who had abandoned the teachings, was not even considered a member of the House anymore.

Tilek svi'khaf-spol t'vathu - tilek svi'sha'veh, Spock read while munching on yet another nutritious but tasteless meal brought by the silent servant girl. The spear in the other's heart is the spear in your own. A saying, Spock knew, which was presented in many religions and philosophies across the galaxy, just in different words. But how did the philosophy take the spear out from one’s heart? How did it treat the wound which was shared, the pain which was not only one’s own? How was Spock to rip the spear from his own heart without damaging the heart of the other?

And how to treat a spear which was not supposed to be there in the first place?

Emotions filled Spock’s mind. Master the emotions, he thought. Draw strength from them. Analyze. Rationalize that which is irrational. The book closed with a loud bang. There was no logic in this! A feeling of longing between a man and a woman was logical, like was the bonding between Vulcans. But it was not a woman who so often disturbed Spock’s thoughts. No, not even another Vulcan, who could telepathically control Spock’s mind (there were individuals known to have such capabilities).

He would have to meet him, Spock knew. He had no other alternative. He had to meet James Tiberius Kirk, the man who so often stole his focus, the man whose memory filled his thoughts and whose touch he sometimes missed during the cold, solitary nights. The Kolinahr would demand it. Yes: he had to complete Kolinahr, but he had to sort things out with Jim first. And come to think of it, Jim had been there during his last pon farr, too, so actually it was most likely that the human would be in Spock’s thoughts now that another important ritual approached. Yes, it was simple! Spock’s brown eyes were sparkling, and his rigid posture relaxed. The Kolinahr demanded he’d meet with Jim. Spock would have to do whatever it took to achieve the mastery of his passions.

When the servant girl returned to pick up the dirty dishes she found the plate nearly untouched, the immensely valuable book of Surak’s teachings spread open on the floor and no trace of her master. A Starfleet badge, the one Spock had taken as a memento after leaving the Service, was placed gently on the table. It was worn smooth from where Spock’s thumb had tenderly stroked it so many times before, but the emblem was still visible: a golden arrowhead with a black star in the middle. Had she looked outside the window, she’d seen Spock sitting in the yard and recording a message to the previous owner of that badge.

***

‘Now, let’s consider a simple example,’ Jim said to his audience. One of the students in the back row seemed to wake up, yawned and at least had the decency to look sheepish. ‘You’re in deep space, your vessel moving forward in warp 7. You are pursuing a vessel, which has destroyed a Starfleet courier ship and is now fleeing towards the Klingon empire. What must the conditions in your vessel be at this time, Tyana?’ Jim directed his question to the girl who had just woken up and stared at her fixedly.

‘Umm… Er, like, what do you mean by conditions, Sir?’ she mumbled uncertainly. Jim chose another victim and called his name. ‘Tomas! The conditions.’

‘A yellow alert, Sir. Possibly also phasers on stand-by, and the current location and situation of my vessel forwarded to the nearest Starfleet base, Sir.’

‘Excellent! Now, what are the highest priority tasks to do in this situation?’ Several students raised their hands, and Jim let a few answer. After everything had been covered, one hand remained up. The young Vulcan, of course. ‘Go on,’ Jim said to the man, fascinated at what he might have to add.

‘A thorough evaluation of all possibilities should be the first priority in any situation,’ he said calmly. ‘The logically best method is selected and followed through effectively to ensure the mission is accomplished by all Starfleet rules and regulations.’

‘And to you the options suggested just now were not logical?’ Jim asked, and immediately regretted it. The Vulcan was right, of course, albeit his answer was not exactly what Jim had wanted to hear. It seemed all Vulcans were excellent at being correct while at the same time being absolutely wrong.

‘Sir, I merely pointed out that-‘

‘Yes, yes. Good point. Well, I think that about wraps up our today’s lesson,’ said Jim and stepped down from the lectern, determined to head directly to Jobb’s, a shabby bar just outside the campus. The Vulcan always made him anxious, and a pint of foaming lager usually was the best medicine. Unfortunately, today like so many days before, the young Vulcan male prevented Jim’s escape by standing before him. Jim sighed inwardly and sat down. A Vulcan with a question was like a face-hugging alien: it just clung on until it had what it wanted.

When Jim finally dragged himself to his quarters he was dead tired. The boy had had a thousand questions, after which there had been a long and useless meeting, then more bureaucracy and then Jobb’s was already closed and Jim just gave up. He still had a ton of things to do, but they could wait. It still felt wrong: he never behaved like this when he was the Captain of the Enterprise. He had pushed himself to the limits each day, he had worked until he collapsed and he never, ever left a thing undone or a stone unturned. But the Starfleet was no Enterprise. He had responsibilities now, but nothing critical. He was just another cogwheel in the huge machine, which produced new crew members and new spaceships. Just another cogwheel.

A quiet beep from the computer informed Jim of a new message. Jim took off his shirt, threw it at the computer and fell asleep.

The next morning the message light was still blinking demandingly. Jim remembered dreaming about the Enterprise, but couldn’t recall the details anymore. The stickiness and a definite bulge in his underwear hinted that the dream had been a pleasant one. Jim grinned and asked the computer to play the new messages while he pulled on soft slacks and a casual sweater. He was just pulling on his socks when a familiar, deep and soft voice took him by surprise. Jim fell face first to the floor, where he laid still and listened, his fingers still clutching the sock.

‘Spock to Mr. Kirk. I would request to meet you in person. I shall make myself available at your earliest convenience.’

‘Computer! Replay last message!’ shouted Jim after he spat out a part of a sleeve. His rooms were never quite as tidy as the Starfleet expected.

‘Spock to Mr. Kirk. I would request to meet you in person. I shall make myself available at your earliest convenience,’ said that sweet, longed-for voice again. Jim asked the computer to repeat the message five or six times more, and then thought to himself: He expects an answer. Well, I’ve been expecting his reply to my messages for months! Let the bugger taste his own medicine for once, that’ll show him!

Jim got up, pulled his socks on and decided Spock had waited long enough.

***

Savak stood up. The meeting was over, and the rest of the members of the small society began to leave the conference room. Savak called his closest assistant. ‘T’Nash, stay.’ The woman, dressed in plain dark blue tunic and black tights sat back down to her chair next to Savak, suppressed an urge to tug at her long black braid and waited. Savak didn’t speak again until everyone else had left.

‘Tell me about the heir to House Sarek,’ Savak asked. T’Nash consulted her PADD briefly before answering. ‘The heir is called Mr. Spock. He has several commendations and decorations from his service in the Starfleet. While he is considered a brilliant scientist and exceedingly smart, he is… Sir, he is a half-breed. His mother was fi'Terra-pukeshtaik,’ she said, spitting out the Vulcan word for Earthborn as if it tasted bad in her mouth. ‘However, his half-brother Sybok is full-blooded, born of Sarek and a Vulcan princess,’ she continued and licked her full lips, her eyes moving rapidly as she read what information the PADD had about the old family. ‘Oh. Sybok has embraced emotions. The blood of Sarek is weak and faulty, Sir.’

Savak smiled wickedly. ‘It is not the blood we’re after, not directly. We need their intelligence. As all great revolutionists at this time, we must be adaptive. Sybok is useless. But this Spock… he could be most useful.’

‘Sir, our source in the Temple of Gol informs that Spock is training for the Kolinahr, Sir.’

‘No matter. Bring him to me. He will join us or die by us, like so many will after him. We need his mind, genetically faulty though it is. He will assist us in purifying T’Khasi… or he will be purified.’

***

T’Nash was a proud woman, and like most proud people, she distrusted everyone else. If the society needed this half-breed she would bring him in herself, she thought while carefully spreading sparkling light blue make-up to her eyelids. Men were easy. Logical though they claimed to be, feminine beauty most always stripped them from their senses. T’Nash used a soft, thin brush to apply black ink around her eyes, looked at her reflection and nodded.

She arrived to House Sarek’s mansion in her personal shuttle and demanded the first servant she saw to take her directly to Mr. Spock. When she was told the master was not to be disturbed, she flashed a sinister smile and made sure the servant could see her dagger glimmering from beneath her cloak. She found Spock from a rather spacious room, which was filled with archived digital disks, leather-bound tomes and even scrolls tied with thin ribbons. The room smelled of static electricity and dust.

‘Osu Spock, Lady T’Nash to see you,’ informed the servant, curtsied and rushed away as if she was afraid. Spock regarded the newcomer coolly. T’Nash took her time pretending to be admiring the archives before she stepped right before Spock and gazed at him from beneath her long, black eyelashes.

‘Your Honor,’ she said with her voice dripping honey, ‘thank you for granting an audience. Your time is precious, so I’ll make it short. Sir Savak has need of you, Your Honor. He is aware of your intelligence, and-’

‘What does he want?’ Spock grunted. He was anxious as it was, for Jim’s response had not yet crossed the vast space between Earth and T’Khasi. T’Nash batted her eyelashes sweetly and began to explain how the teachings of Surak had been neglected throughout Vulcan, how proudly House Sarek still followed the ancient customs and how Spock could take a most prestigious position in assuring that the old ways were restored all through the planet. While it wasn’t exactly what the society aimed at, it should be enough to pique Spock’s interest and to reel him in.

It took a long time to convince Spock how important it would be for him to participate. T’Nash promised him all Hell and Heaven, knowing far well she had no authority to do so and that Spock did not believe half of what she said. But it was enough to get him to Savak, who then would use this half-breed as he saw fit. The blood of T’Khasi would be purified, no matter the cost. If it took half-breeds to destroy half-breeds, so be it. As Savak had said: they needed to be adaptive. For now. Finally the stupid hybrid understood, although even then he asked T’Nash to return tomorrow, when he’d have time to join her and meet Savak. T’Nash held back her anger and frustration. She allowed herself to smile sweetly before she left, leaving Spock with his book and archives, studying the ancient philosophies and meditations.

The following day found Spock slightly irritated. House Sarek was a proud and noble House, but not without its spies. During the first hours of the morning many of them had provided Spock with information on Savak and his attempt to eradicate the lesser families, the ones infected with impure blood. It would lead to war, Spock knew. War, and a smaller genetic pool, which again would make the race weaker and more prone to genetic defects. It could not be allowed. He told T’Nash as much when the woman returned.

‘But Your Honor-‘

‘Flattery is both illogical and unnecessary. The servants will show you out.’

Despite her cowl Spock could see how T’Nash’s eyes flashed angrily. For a moment the woman stood still, visibly seething, but then she remembered her honor and walked away briskly without saying a word. Spock sat down, took a deep breath and continued his meditations.

On her way out T’Nash saw one of the many servants of House Sarek. She forced kindness to her eyes, approached the old male servant and produced a small package from the depths of her cloak. A mouth-watering aroma of a well-cooked dish with exotic spices and fresh vegetables wafted in the air, and made the servant’s eyes sparkle. ‘Here, friend, I seem to have forgotten to give this to the young master. Please deliver it for me, it will help to strengthen his mind and body,’ said T’Nash softly while handing the precious gift to the servant.

She climbed to her shuttle and sent a crypted message back to Savak. She contemplated on staying and watching the effects of her gift, but decided against it. A House this big would have its own guards, and if they found her after Spock was dead… it didn’t bear thinking what they’d do. When her shuttle skimmed over the vast lands she laughed aloud.

Back inside the mansion Spock’s mood had changed considerably. Jim’s message had travelled from relay stations to satellites and deep space message buoys, bounced from yet more satellites and finally wormed its way to Spock’s personal computer. Spock was listening to it right now, while gently stroking the already worn command emblem he had taken over a year ago.

‘Spock, it’s so good to hear from you, old friend,’ Jim’s voice was saying. That sweet, warm voice made Spock’s skin shiver. He almost regretted the official tone of the message he had sent earlier, now that he listened to the casual and happy tone of his former captain. ‘How have you been? The last I heard from you you were on your way to Vulcan, and no one knew why. He made me promise not to tell you this, but even Bones has been asking about you. It was a real blow to the Starfleet when you left.’ At this point there was a pause in the message. Jim had wanted to add how hard it had been for him when Spock had resigned, but couldn’t make himself say it aloud. Nevertheless Spock knew the words were there. ‘Anyway, I’m here, on Earth, as you know. I’m a cogwheel now.’ Jim laughed, and Spock wondered if Jim had gone insane or just changed his field to engineering. The message went on for quite a while.

An old servant brought Spock refreshments. He had barely resisted taking some for himself: the kind woman had truly left Spock a real treat! Spock waved him away and played the message a few more times while making his travel plans. When he was finished he felt calmer than he had in a long time. He noted his breathing was deeper, his pulse had slowed down and his body temperature was cooler due to decreased surface blood circulation. Good.

His step was light as he went outside to meditate. He stood a while, facing the hot winds, spread his hands and closed his eyes. He was happy. He was happy, yet his mind felt sharp and clear despite the emotion. The wind ruffled his hair and kissed his closed eyelids warmly. Spock allowed himself to enjoy the feeling, and let the wind caress his body. He stood there for a long while before he wiped his mind clean and once again began to stack the mental cubes, dodecahedrons and even more complex structures in his mind.

A single brave hayalit-lizard had found the forgotten meal, which the servant had carelessly thrown away from the window since Spock had once again failed to consume his nourishments. The animal chirped excitedly. It took an eager bite and chirped again to summon its pack. By the time the other hayalits arrived, the first lay dead on its back, its stomach a bloody mess where the acid had burned through its guts.

***

Jim had spent his yet another day busily with official Starfleet business. Now as the sun had set he luxuriated in a hot bath while music was playing in the background. The tub was not in his own quarters, no: the Academy had a few shared bathrooms which one could reserve, the only places in the campus where old-fashioned water shower and actual bathing were still possible. Still Jim felt safe enough to actually relax. He leaned back in the tub, closed his eyes and listened to the throaty voice of the singer.

I love myself, I want you to love me  
When I'm feelin' down, I want you above me

Jim grabbed a sponge and began to rub himself clean. He ran the sponge over neck and shoulder, pressing the rough material against soft coppery skin. He squeezed and felt hot, soapy water running down the part of his body which was still above water. The soap left slippery traces on his skin.

I search myself, I want you to find me  
I forget myself, I want you to remind me

 

On a whim Jim traced the sponge lower, over his collar bone and on his pectorals. He rubbed his skin with circular motions, and breathed as the sponge brushed his tender nipples. Immediately the pink nubs grew hard as if begging to be touched. Jim bit his lower lip, glanced at the door to make sure it was locked and pushed the sponge even lower.

You're the one who makes me happy honey  
You're the sun who makes me shine

Jim closed his eyes again. The image of Spock filled his mind, and he started in surprise. Stress, he thought vaguely and tried to think of voluptuous women, blonde, beautiful and eager to please. His fingers squeezed the sponge as he ran it up and down his muscular thighs, focusing on the pleasant shivers it sent crisscrossing over his body. His manhood began to twitch and grow.

I close my eyes and see you before me   
Think I would die if you were to ignore me

The words of the song brought Spock’s face back to Jim’s mind. His brain was acting on its own, conjuring up memories Jim had so hard tried to forget. The velvety softness of Spock’s eyes contrasting his stern lips. He remembered how Spock had been down on Omicron Ceti III, under the intoxicating influence of the pollen: he had laughed and made Jim jealous by kissing a local woman. He remembered Spock’s guarded smiles and his soft voice. He remembered Spock’s pon farr and the fierce, feverish lust. Jim moaned softly as he pressed the sponge against his erection.

A fool could see just how much I adore you  
I get down on my knees, I'd do anything for you

The hot water turned Jim’s skin pink, but his cheeks were blushed because of an entirely other type of stimulus. Slowly he rubbed the sponge up and down his shaft. The soap made his skin slippery, and the sponge had softened enough not to chafe the sensitive skin. The fingers of Jim’s free hand opened and clenched rhythmically. His erection was rock hard now. He felt his body yielding to the primal need he had so long left untended. He could see Spock before him, his fingers steepled, his eyes dark flames, his body rigid as the lust of pon farr consumed him. He remembered Spock’s scent: masculine, spicy, deep and yet sweet, like white musk. When they had fought, part of that lust had been directed at Jim. For a while Jim had been Spock’s entire world.

I don't want anybody else   
When I think about you I touch myself   
I don't want anybody else

The sponge slipped from Jim’s fingers and welled up to the surface of the water. Jim wrapped his eager fingers around his shaft and stroked it in a quickening pace. His whole body jerked as he pushed himself against his own palm. He remembered Spock’s slender body and the way his skin felt when it touched Jim’s. He remembered how softly the Vulcan used to whisper his name. Jim. Jim moaned aloud.

I want you, I don't want anybody else

And when I think about you I touch myself

He was so close now that his breathing came in short gasps. The fast movement of his hand splashed water to the floor as he laid in the tub his eyes closed and legs spread apart. Spock. Spock was all he could think of, his scent, his voice, his strength, the way his hair shone and his eyes burned… Jim’s lips moved as the orgasm shook him. His pearly seed mixed with the water and slowly, languidly his body relaxed, but his lips kept moving as he silently whispered one word, over and over again:

‘Spock… Spock…’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** The lyrics are from the song "I Touch Myself" by The Divinyls. © EMI Music Publishing, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC. The inspiration (and the song) to the bath scene is from this wonderful slash vid: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NUcMvCjJ7SA**


	3. Chapter 3

Savak stared at T’Nash like a lion stares at its prey. T’Nash tried to stand still and accept the challenge, but soon she had to avert her gaze and turn away in shame. She had failed. Not only had she failed at turning Spock to their cause, but she had also failed to kill him. T’Nash tugged at her braid unconsciously. ‘Sir, I will not fail again,’ she tried, but her words were lost in Savak’s laughter.

‘No, child, you had your chances. Now, what should I do with you?’ he mused, walking around the small room he called his office. It was but a rented room, but for the time being that was their HQ. Savak knew when he had to be modest: he’d be great, rich and powerful in time. He just had to be patient – for now.

Wisely, T’Nash stayed quiet. She didn’t allow herself to flinch even when there was a demanding knock at the door. The guest did not wait for admission; he simply barged in with his long robes floating behind him, the silky satin flashing in the light. Savak grunted at the interruption but quickly changed his snarl into a polite bow. One was not rude to the acolytes of Gol. ‘Your honor, what gives us this pleasure?’ he murmured.

The acolyte requested refreshments and made himself comfortable before he spoke. ‘I met that Spock of yours today,’ he began. ‘His abilities develop fast. I must say I do believe he will achieve Kolinahr, and it would be an honor to have him beside us should he so choose.’

Savak nodded and fulfilled the old man’s goblet with sweet wine. He stilled his racing heart and quieted his impatience. The man would speak in his own time. One had to be patient. In passing he wondered why the man was still an acolyte. Surely he should be a priest by now? ‘You’ve learned,’ the acolyte said quietly. Savak looked surprised, so he had to clarify: ‘Patience. You guard your ambitions well, child. It will serve you well in your quest.’

T’Nash snorted. She was about to say something when the acolyte told his news. ‘I performed the forbidden mind meld on him,’ the acolyte said, his voice full of disdain. He had only done what had to be done, but it had not been pleasant. ‘I read his mind. He will leave tomorrow at sunrise. A shuttle will take him to the orbit, where a passing merchant ship picks him up. He is restless, but I could not read why. He guards his thoughts too well for me to read without him noticing it.’

They all knew what it meant. If Spock left before committing himself to their cause, they would lose him for good. If they lost Spock, they lost House Sarek, one of the last noble houses dedicated to the teachings of Surak. Sarek, Spock’s father, was out of the question. He was old and too obsessive in his ways. Sybok, Spock’s half-brother, was a fat emotional fool and an outcast. No, to have House Sarek they had to have Spock. Once that genius half-breed was with the Society he could be hidden somewhere where no one would know of his unpleasant heredity.

‘Why is he leaving, your honor?’ Savak asked. The acolyte had almost dozed on his chair, and jerked upright when he was disturbed. ‘Insufficient data,’ he grunted. ‘However, he was thinking of a man. Human, I think, blonde and young and strong.’

Savak burst out in laughter. He managed to thank the acolyte several times between his guffaws. ‘He’s… he’s gay!’ he finally blurted and laughed again. T’Nash blinked her eyes without saying anything. She had had her flings with other women, and found nothing amusing about homosexuality. Savak coughed, drew breath and was finally able to speak. ‘T’Nash, bring Spock to me. He’s brilliant, but a queer and a half-breed? Bring that male-mounting bastard to me and we’ll see if he is usable after all.’

T’Nash had donned a dark cloak, covered her pretty face with the hood and hurried to the spaceport nearest to where Spock dwelled. She wondered about the male the acolyte had mentioned. Did Spock truly have a lover, or was this man a relative, a friend or even an enemy? Was he involved in Spock’s sudden trip and if so, then how? Could she use the blonde man somehow? She also thought about Savak’s recent outburst. How could a man lead a society if he was so emotional and unstable? Perhaps Savak should be replaced. She was just contemplating on what poison to use to get rid of the arrogant society leader when her personal shuttle landed. The spaceport was on her left: a huge dark dome, built to withstand sand storms and the everlasting heat of the desert planet. Tens of Vulcans milled about the area, coming and going, and a small and unimpressive shuttle was just landing. Its engines whined loudly until it was firmly on the ground.

Inside the dome was pleasantly cool. T’Nash looked around until she found what she was looking for: a power point right next to a chair. She sat down, covered the power point with a bag and began her preparations. She dug inside her cloak and produced a small metallic box with pins on one side. Inside the box was a transmitter, which she now activated and calibrated to use a certain frequency only she knew. Pretending to reach down to tie her shoelaces she pushed the pins to the wall next to the power point, made sure the box began to whirr and sat back up. Her hand-held computer was programmed to receive whatever data the transmitter could get from the data cables, which usually ran close to the power lines.

To any passerby she looked like a normal traveler. She had her bag, like everyone else, and she was tapping her tablet computer like many others in the hall. But the other travelers were not hooked into the spaceport information system like she was. Her eyes began to shine as she dug up information on the shuttle Spock was to take, and even the possible ships he’d transfer to in orbit. Her eyebrows rose slightly when she found the blueprints of the shuttle. She felt like laughing out aloud: it would be a piece of tufeen hushani to blow the old junk apart, should it come to that. She hoped it would. Explosions were fun!

***

Spock was just finishing his bland soup when a servant informed him of a visitor. He was not feeling himself: his thoughts were unorganized, and he felt like someone was watching him. The monitoring mind-meld of the acolyte had left him feeling violated somehow, but the reason for it eluded him.

‘Show her in,’ he finally said after the servant refused to disappear together with the unwanted visitor.

‘My Lord, please grant me a moment of your time! I wish to speak with you in private. Maybe you could show me this wonderful House of yours, I’ve heard so many good things about it – and you, of course,' T’Nash chirped and tugged at her braid. Spock stared at her. How dared this woman return here? Had he known about the previous attempt at his life his response might have been different, but for now he merely stood up and lead T’Nash to a secluded porch.

‘Speak,’ he said bluntly.

‘T’Khasi is dying,’ she said, her voice now pure ice. She remembered how Spock had seen through her empty flattery the last time and had decided on a new tactic. ‘T’Khasi and all her children are dying, Spock. The blood of the Vulcans runs thin and weak. It is the only possible consequence –‘

‘You know I am only a half-Vulcan, as well as I know about your attempts to eradicate those like me,’ interrupted Spock. He leaned against the balustrade and stared at T’Nash with his dark eyes. He was clothed in pure black, but showed no signs that the heat affected him. It was, in fact, intolerably hot, but it was only a matter of concentration to decrease his body temperature.

‘You are half-Vulcan, as you say, and our genes are stronger than those of humans. You know this. The promoters and enzymes of our genes override the slow and ineffective DNA of the humans. You look a Vulcan, you think like a Vulcan – because, genetically, you are one. Your body has probably inactivated the non-Vulcan genes by now. But many others… many others are not like you. Vulcans mate with Andorians, Spock, and with folk from Orion, Rigel – from things all around the galaxy, and their genes override ours! The blood grows weak,’ she repeated.

‘Affirmative,’ Spock said after a moment of silence. He listened to a dokai screaming somewhere in the distance and waited for the woman to speak, if she did indeed have anything to say.

‘You’re proud of being a Vulcan,’ she then said. ‘Affirmative,’ Spock agreed.

‘If our blood is diluted, our race exists no more.’

Spock merely nodded.

‘The preservation of diversity is the core of Kol-Ut-Shan, or Infinite Combinations in Infinite Diversity, as the humans call it. I submit to you that to maintain our race is to follow Kol-Ut-Shan.’

‘It is logical.’

‘We must preserve the purity, Spock. Work with us – track down the families with pure blood so we can consult them as they bond their children. Study the genetics so we know which races are safe to mate with. We pay what you need. Logically, Spock, you are best qualified for the task.’

‘You rely on Ambassador Sarek’s reputation.’

T’Nash saw no reason to deny it. ‘His reputation is part of your merit, and you have your own fame to add to it. Will you join us?’

‘Will I join you in your destruction of innocents, join you as you mock everything it is to be a Vulcan?’ Spock’s eyebrows slanted as he furrowed his brow.

T’Nash stared at him, speechless. She had had her doubts about Savak’s schemes, sure, but harsh measures were needed now when an entire race was threatened! Surely Spock should see that!

‘Spock, the blood makes us Vulcan! Philosophy is just philosophy, but it does not define us. Vulcans-‘

‘Evolution. Genetic change is evolution and therefore necessary. Genetic diversity is that diversity which we must preserve,’ Spock said softly. He saw T’Nash hesitate, and tried to push her away from the dark pit Savak was goading her into. T’Nash looked at the horizon. Her eyes were full of sudden uncertainty. Spock looked at her gently and continued. ‘You’re young, T’Nash. Meditate. Think.’

They both were silent as Spock lead her away from the porch, inside the mansion, through long corridors and out to the front yard. ‘I will not join you. Leave now, but meditate. That advice is all I give to you and your cause.’

T’Nash left without saying another word. Her posture, so proud and noble when she had arrived, was now sagged and deflated. The fire in her eyes was gone. Spock felt he had done ‘what was right’, as Jim would have said.

After T’Nash was gone Spock returned inside where it was cool and dark. He meditated until the time came for him to leave for Earth. He packed a small bag with neatly folded robes, his most precious memory disks and a small meditation lamp, which he believed would assist his meditations in the strange vessel he was going to board. He travelled to the same spaceport where T’Nash had been earlier, and sat on the same chair T’Nash had sat on.

While he waited for his shuttle he tried to meditate. He imagined a grey square, turned it this way and that, and gently placed it on a pedestal. He imaged picking up another block. The spaceport disappeared around him, and the general hubbub faded to silence. The new block hovered for a while before landing exactly above the previous one. The world was quiet, calm, and serene. His open eyes saw nothing. A third block appeared, but it was held by fingers shorter and slightly thicker than Spock’s – Jim’s fingers. With his mind’s eye Spock saw Jim’s mischievously smiling eyes before he wiped his mind clean and started over. A block. A smile. Restart.

After several unsuccessful meditation attempts the time came for Spock to board the shuttle. He got up, walked to the gate… and froze. His mind was blank and calm, but his entire body was screaming in terror. Every cell was shaking. The fine dark hair on his neck bristled and his mouth was suddenly very dry. Spock tried to calm his racing heart, but in vain.

‘Are you alright, sir?’ asked one of the attendants, who rushed to help. Spock had gone so pale his face was nearly white.

‘I… I am quite alright,’ he managed. Spock kept his gaze on the floor: if the lifted his eyes he immediately felt weak and sick. The gate before him seemed distorted, and all sounds were muffled and distant. He barely heard what the attendant was saying. Losing his self-control like this was unexpected, and frankly, frightening. Spock tried vainly to stop his muscles from trembling.

‘-‘ He tried to speak, but could not trust his voice. His lips were quivering. His vision was blurred and his mind was in chaos. The physical sensations, unpleasant though they were, were rapidly drowning beneath raw emotions: fear, panic, uncertainty.

Spock’s fingers went numb. His bag fell to the floor with a thump.

‘Maybe you should rest,’ suggested the attendant. Courteously she refrained from touching the troubled man, but was now considering if she should risk it after all. Spock solved the problem for her by pushing her away as he leaped towards the boarding gate. He fought frantically to regain control of his body and mind. It was difficult to move when his muscles were weak as a baby’s and the boarding gate was rippling before his eyes.

Spock thought he heard a scream, only it came from inside his head. I am afraid, he thought, astonished. This is fear. He tried to analyze and rationalize the situation, but the storm inside his mind continued to rage. He could not think or act coherently. Fascinating, he managed to think before even that thought was swept away.

With enormous mental effort Spock forced his legs to carry him through the gate and towards the shuttle. As he was stepping over the threshold into the cramped shuttle someone pulled him back and shoved him against the wall of the gateway. Pain shot up his arm and his already weak legs gave out. Spock collapsed on the floor. Through his hazy vision he saw a familiar figure in a dark cloak rushing past him and jumping into the shuttle, but by the time Spock had recuperated it was too late. T’Nash, her face pale but her doe’s eyes determined, stood inside the shuttle. Her dainty hand was pressing the door activation mechanism, and the sturdy door closed with a bang.

Through the window in the door Spock saw her shake her head. The shuttle was starting its engines.

Spock pulled himself up. His mind felt clearer already. While he watched the shuttle part from the gate and launching into the bright sky he ascertained his body and mind were now in their normal state. Why had T’Nash rushed in like that? He could make no theories before he had more data. His eyes followed the shuttle intently.

For a while the shuttle glistened in the sun. Then, just before it reached the atmosphere, the sound of the engines turned into a high, ear-splitting whine. The engines screamed. Spock thought he could make out a jet of flame right before the entire shuttle exploded in a searing flame. Pieces of metal and now dead passengers began to rain down.

Spock stood still and watched the rescue crews rushing to the crash site. He was not needed there, he was no medic. To his satisfaction he noted his heart rate had decreased, his blood pressure was lower and his higher brain functions seemed to be normal. He had now fully recovered from his previous weakness.

Slowly an unpleasant thought crept to his mind: he had been in error. That alone was an unsettling thought, for it was a clear indication that his mind was not, in fact, working as it should. But he continued that trail of thought. No, it had not been logical fear that paralyzed him and saved him from an apparent assassination attempt. Not fear.

Maybe T’Nash had been correct after all, and Spock’s own blood was weak and faulty. That was a logical reason for what had happened.

Spock had He had done it because he had panicked.

Out of sheer embarrassment and humiliation Spock meditated the whole time he spent travelling on the next shuttle. In his mind he built endless towers and other shapes out of increasingly complex pieces. Sometimes he succeeded, sometimes not, but he never gave up. He meditated, his small lamp burning beside him, his mind empty save for his imaginary constructions. 

T’Nash had saved him. Maybe she had seen the fault of her ways, or maybe she had had other motives. It did not matter now. Spock was alive.

When the vessel finally reached the Earth orbit and began its descent to the planet surface Spock was finishing his mental image of the galaxy. He maintained that image as he stepped out from the vessel and into the spaceport. He announced his arrival to the officials and added the second to last piece to his mental puzzle.

‘Spock!’ shouted a familiar, soft voice from the crowd.

The entire galaxy disappeared into nothingness like mist after sunrise. Spock’s own sun was looking at him and waving happily. ‘Spock!’ the sun god shouted again.

Jim laughed. His laugh was like pearls, his voice soft as velvet, his face just as beautiful as Spock had remembered. Spock’s feet carried him closer to that brightness that was Jim. The human laughed again and grabbed Spock into a fierce hug.

I missed you, Spock wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come. I missed you; I missed you every single day and every single night. Jim let him go and looked deep into his eyes.

Jim… Jim, I need you. Please understand me. Please hear what I cannot say. I need you.

‘I know,’ whispered Jim. Spock had not said a word. ‘I know, and I need you too.’

This time it was Spock who hugged Jim, desperately as if his life depended on it. And maybe, in some unknown way, it did.


	4. Chapter 4

Spock turned his pint around on the table. He had so far restrained from actually drinking the dark, potent Romulan ale Jim had offered him. The bar was crowded and noisy, it stank of beer, stale air and sweat, and the table was sticky with what Spock nervously assumed to be spilled alcohol. Old music was flowing from the low-quality speakers all around the bar. But Spock, usually so alert, was entirely unaware of his surroundings.

Jim was next to him. Jim’s chocolate eyes shone, and his wet tongue flashed between his pink lips as he spoke. His voice resonated from Spock’s every cell and made him feel warm inside. Spock could smell a mix of Jim’s shampoo, spicy cologne and the man’s own, masculine scent. He inhaled deeply to be sure he’d remember that scent.

‘And then they gave me another course to teach, this time about the ethics of interracial diplomacy. Diplomacy, Spock! What do I know of diplomacy, I’m a soldier and a captain and, heck, anything but a diplomat,’ Jim explained. He gulped his beer to wet his dry mouth and continued. He had been speaking for over two hours. ‘But enough about me. Spock, old friend, how have you been?’

‘My health is excellent,’ Spock replied promptly. Jim stared at him, blinking his eyes. ‘Go on,’ he urged after a while. The Vulcan remained quiet.

‘Well I guess that sums it up then,’ Jim stated, leaned back on his chair and grabbed his now sadly empty pint. ‘I’ve taught courses, attended meetings, got drunk, been miserable and overworked, and you’ve been healthy. Not bad,’ he said with a grin. ‘You know, you’re the best science officer and first officer there ever was, but as a conversationalist you leave a lot to be desired.’

‘I am aware of it,’ Spock confirmed. Jim laughed and made Spock’s world a slightly better place. Jim prodded the full pint towards Spock. The bartended noticed his predicament and kindly fulfilled Jim’s pint without asking. Jim beamed.

‘Alright, Spock. Here’s the deal. If you are not finished with that before I empty mine,’ Jim said and pointed at their pints, hiccupped and apologized, ‘I will ask you questions all night. Illogical questions.’

Spock raised his eyebrow. Jim picked up his pint and emptied half of it at one go. Then he slammed the pint to the table, spilling beer all over, looked at Spock straight in the eyes and said: ‘Why did the cow jump over the moon?’

Now Spock’s both eyebrows approached the ceiling in an approximately 40, 3s04; degree angle. He cocked his head to one side. Jim drew breath and continued firing. ‘Is the answer to this question 'No'?’ Spock picked up his pint and took a long gulp. The beer burned his mouth, but it left pleasant warmth and a soft aftertaste. ‘How’s Schrödinger’s cat doing these days?’ Jim asked innocently, referring to the cat that was both dead and alive while being, as cats usually are, quite contended in a cardboard box.

Spock placed his empty pint before Jim. The human pretended to be disappointed.

‘I can’t seem to understand why a rapid consumption of fermented grain is considered such a desirable quality in human males,’ Spock wondered. Jim left that one unanswered, picked up his jacket and made a motion towards the door. Spock nodded thankfully and followed Jim out to the fresh, cool air.

They sat down to a park bench. A tree rustled in the wind behind them, and a few green leaves floated down like feathers, tumbling as they drifted with the night breeze. The park was quiet and dark. A single lamp post shed dim light down on the two friends; all the other lamps had burned or been broken by kids with nothing better to do. A small sparrow flew to the path before them and pecked at the gravel tentatively.

Spock looked up at the stars. Jim was quiet. He knew Spock wanted to speak, and was determined to give him all the time in the world if it was needed. Truthfully he was content just to sit there, next to Spock, who radiated calmness. Jim felt safe and happy. The word fuzzy came to his mind. He did not have to wait for very long.

‘I left to pursue Kolinahr. It is an ancient ritual for suppressing all emotions and devoting oneself to logic. They say a kolinahru, one who has succeeded in the ritual, has achieved peace and harmony. Devotion to logic has been the way of the Vulcans for centuries now, leading us away from violence and anarchy. ’

Spock’s voice was quiet when he spoke. His eyes were dreamy as he gazed at the distant stars, only faintly visible due to the light pollution. Jim listened attentively. Why would Spock suddenly decide to pursue this Colin Arr?

‘The days of the pursuer of Kolinahr are filled with meditation,’ Spock continued, and then said no more. Jim wanted to be patient, but his mouth usually was faster than this brain. ‘What broke your concentration?’ he asked and regretted it immediately. It had been a stab in the dark, but the way Spock started showed he had hit something. The Vulcan remained silent. Jim found himself speaking of what he had not intended to speak.

‘You left to pursue that… Col… whatever it was. Well you could’ve told me about it before you left! There I was, stripped of my ship and getting used to live in the Academy, just to find out you had gone and no one knew where. ’ Jim realized his tone was accusing, and quickly lowered his voice and tried to soften his words. It was more difficult than he had thought. His eyes followed the sparrow as it jumped on the path and pecked at the ground. Spock, too, avoided looking at Jim.

‘For five years you had been there beside me. Five years, Spock! You had saved my life countless times. Every single day you were there, for ... for…’

‘1825.34,’ said Spock.

‘For 1825.34 days. And then you weren’t. Just like that.’ Jim felt restless and anxious, so he hopped up from the bench and frightened the sparrow, who took refuge at the branches of a near-by tree. Jim knew he should shut up, shut up shut up before he said too much… but he had never been one for caution. Especially now when he knew it wasn’t the beer talking, it just gave him courage. He was dead serious.

‘I’ll say it, Spock. Fine, I’ll say it if it makes you happy. I missed you. I missed you like seven hells and they thought I was going insane. I didn’t sleep, I drank, and when I was sober I worked until I was half-dead from fatigue. I missed you and I needed you and you – left – without – a word. ‘

Jim felt the bitterness of his following words on his tongue. He should not say them. He shouldn’t. His eyes found Spock’s, and with acid in his voice Jim said: ‘I thought you were my friend.’

Ever since he had left the Starfleet Spock had felt vaguely lonely. No, lonely was not the right word. He had felt guilty. He had felt guilty because he had escaped his own emotions, his memories, and tried to find solace in Kolinahr. He remembered his earlier words to Jim: “I have been, and always shall be, your friend”. He admitted himself now that he had betrayed that promise, just like Jim said. Not a single day had passed without him remembering that guilt. Not a single day had turned to night without him trying desperately to get rid of those emotions. He had made progress, too.

But now, this one man, one brown-eyed and golden-haired human destroyed all he had worked for. Spock employed every single mind-control technique he knew, and each of them failed. There he sat, in an empty park, under the cold gaze of James Tiberius Kirk, and broke down.

Jim saw Spock pressing his head to his hands. His shoulders began to tremble.

‘Spock? Spock, no, no Spock please, don’t,’ Jim begged, all his fury and disappointment melting away. He rushed towards the Vulcan and remained there, uncertain what to do. Could he touch him? You have no right to touch him, not now, his brain told him. You waited for him for 1825 days just so you could insult him? Well done, Jim-boy. Well done.

Once again Jim neglected his sense. He sat next to Spock, placed his hand to Spock’s shivering shoulder and pulled the Vulcan against him. Spock yielded. He leaned against Jim and let those few shameful tears fall to the soft fabric of the human’s jacket. Jim cradled Spock in his arms and buried his face to the Vulcan’s silky black hair.

‘I missed you. I missed you so much,’ Jim whispered. ‘It’s okay now, Spock. Everything is alright now. I’m sorry. It’s alright.’ He knew his words made no sense, but he couldn’t stop talking. ‘It’s alright. I missed you and I’m sorry.’

Spock reached to his pocket and placed a rumpled something to Jim’s hand. Slowly Jim looked at his palm and found himself staring at his old command badge. It was worn almost beyond recognition. It was very much like the badge he himself had, only his had an oval inside a circle. It had been Spock’s badge.

‘You… you missed me too,’ Jim said in astonishment. Spock did not need to reply. The lights from a passing vehicle shone shortly on Spock’s hair and made it glimmer. Jim loved that hair, the way it shone and all the shades of black it had. He kissed it cautiously. Spock murmured in what sounded like a pleasant tone, so Jim kissed him again. This time Spock’s grunt was definitely happy.

‘Let me look at you,’ whispered Jim softly and lifted Spock’s head up. He peered to those eyes, almost black in the darkness, and took in every single feature of that face he had missed so much. Spock had not changed much. His eyebrows were still strong and black, his features sharp, his skin smooth and his posture proud and tall. But something was different. Jim saw his own longing and affection reflected in Spock’s eyes, and the same fear he himself cradled in his heart. The fear of being rejected.

It began to rain, softly and gently, like the sky itself wanted to usher the two men inside to warmth. Jim watched how the first drops fell heavily on Spock’s hair and ran down his cheeks. He kissed them away, and smiled happily when Spock did not turn away like he had feared. Spock did not smile. He did not need to fake facial expressions to let Jim know how he felt. It was a relief to be what he was, without any pretense, and know he was accepted. To Jim it made no difference what genes Spock had and who his father had been. The next time Jim tried to kiss Spock’s forehead the Vulcan quickly turned his head and caught Jim’s lips with his own, tasting the rain on Jim’s skin and sensing his warmth.

Jim felt slightly abashed. Romance was all fine and good, but moments like this tended to get awkward at some point. Faking cheerfulness he bounced up, grabbed Spock by the hand and pulled him up from the wet bench. ‘Come on. Time to get you somewhere where it’s less like Earth,’ he said with a smile. They began to walk towards Jim’s quarters at the Academy.

Jim did not let go of Spock’s hand until they reached his apartment. The day had long since turned to night, but Jim was too anxious and restless to even think of sleeping. While Spock wandered around the small apartment, Jim busied himself in the kitchen. He brewed sweet and refreshing green tea for Spock, and served it with a slice of lemon. The Vulcan accepted the tea gratefully.

For a while they sat quiet at the corner Jim called his living room. Jim waited for Spock to speak, and tried to nibble on a sandwich to occupy his hands somehow. He still didn’t know exactly why Spock had come. The idea of this Colinargh-ritual (or whatever it was) nagged at his mind. Spock had said it was about suppressing emotions. Did that mean Spock would… would no longer feel what he felt for Jim? Had he come here just to kiss Jim goodbye?

The sandwich tasted like cardboard in Jim’s mouth. He fought to get it down. He wanted to feel happy, wanted to smile and laugh and dance in the rain naked. He wanted to hold Spock close and love him. The Vulcan sat so close even now, all Jim had to do was to reach out and touch him. He listened to the hum of the air conditioning and to the knocks and muffled voices from the neighboring apartments.

Spock enjoyed the silence. He felt comfortable and relaxed, but he was aware of Jim’s growing restlessness. It made no sense to him. This moment was now, why did the human worry so much about what was to come? What would come would come. He did not understand. He had seen the same look on his mother’s face long ago, when she had begun to understand what her marriage with Sarek was going to be like. It was a strange mix of happiness, fear and sadness, entirely illogical but apparently of some importance to humans.

Jim would speak when he felt like it, Spock thought. The thought of asking Jim what was the matter did not even cross his mind. Spock closed his eyes and ran through basic mind-control exercises, like he always did when his mind was not otherwise occupied.

***

The morning sun shone through the half-open blinds and painted stripes of light and shadow on Jim’s face. He blinked and rubbed his eyes languidly. Had he fallen asleep? He didn’t remember dreaming. He yawned and finally opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was an empty couch where Spock had sat just a moment ago. Jim was about to spring up when he heard a voice from above him.

‘Good morning,’ said the voice. Spock’s voice. Jim lifted his head from the black pillow to realize he did not own black pillows, and that he had been sleeping in Spock’s lap. The Vulcan had also covered Jim with a blanket. Jim’s racing heart calmed and he smiled, happily and genuinely, for the first time in a year. Spock ran his fingers through Jim’s hair.

‘Good morning,’ Jim replied. Reluctantly he lifted his head from Spock’s thigh and rubbed his face.

‘You snuffle when you sleep,’ Spock noted, fascinated by the phenomena. He had listened to Jim’s quiet breathing and soft snuffling the whole night. Jim felt himself blush. ‘Yeah?’ he managed. Spock just blinked. He had just stated that Jim did, indeed, snuffle – why should he repeat it now? Jim was adorable but sometimes very strange.

That day they spent together walking around the familiar corridors of the Academy and around the vast campus. Jim showed Spock all the renovations and changes the Starfleet had done since they had graduated over six years ago, and together they tried to remember what the place had looked like when they had enrolled to the Academy. Spock greeted their old comrades who they had studied with, and who now were teaching at the Academy. He had never made many friends: he greeted one or two people in the entire campus, while Jim was waving at every other passerby.

At midday they lunched together. Afterwards Spock wanted to visit several scientific institutions and university laboratories around the area, so Jim gave him a spare key to his apartment and let the Vulcan go as he wished. When Spock returned to Jim’s rooms hours later, he found dinner waiting for him. But better than dinner was the warm hug Jim greeted him with.

‘Say, Spock,’ Jim asked after dinner, ‘you still remember the rules to 3D chess?’

‘You insult me, Jim. But I shall entertain you with a game if you indeed desire defeat so much,’ answered Spock with playful sarcasm and moved beside the chessboard Jim had on a side table. It was a masterfully carved set, all pieces detailed and intricately decorated. Entire galaxies were etched to the boards. 3D-chess had several boards set in different levels, hence the name.

Jim sat next to Spock and nodded. Spock made his opening move.

‘Let’s make this a tad more interesting,’ said Jim while moving his own piece. ‘If you dare.’ Spock looked at Jim askance. Jim chuckled. ‘Alright then. Two wins out of three. The winner chooses what we’ll do tonight.’

‘Acknowledged,’ replied Spock and made an aggressive move, which directly threatened Jim’s king. ‘The lesson in conditional logic will be most beneficial to you.’

Jim grimaced, reached for his king but then changed tactics and moved his bishop. ‘Unlikely. You’ll spend tonight in idle chatter, lounging on the couch, watching old movies and drinking a beer or two,’ he stated. While that was not exactly what Jim had in mind it, was close enough. He did not dare say what he actually wanted to do. It did involve the couch, though, but no beer, chatter or movies. But still he was troubled. Why had Spock come here? The uncertainty was eating at him.

After a while Jim could no longer take it. He bounced up, clearly distressed. ‘Why did you come?’ he demanded. Spock didn’t even flinch. He had, in fact, expected this.

‘I did not come here to say I was leaving,’ he answered calmly. ‘But I will return to Vulcan in time, and I will continue pursuing the Kolinahr.’

‘What does that mean, truly?’ asked Jim desperately. ‘What then if you became this… this…’

‘Kolinahru,’ clarified Spock.

‘Yeah. That.’

‘To achieve the Kolinahr is to embrace logic over emotions. However, its meaning is often misunderstood. It does not render the pursuer entirely emotionless. Vulcans have emotions, and to achieve Kolinahr is to have a complete mastery of those emotions.’

Jim felt silly. He sat down, feeling stupid. ‘You won’t become a zombie then?’ he asked. ‘You’ll still… well, feel things, right?’

Spock stared at Jim. His eyes were so dark, so beautiful, and Jim felt he was drowning in those bottomless eyes. What stared back at him was not logic but passion. Spock got up, took Jim by the hand and pulled him up as well. ‘I don’t know if this will work, but I would like to try. It will help you understand,’ he said softly and rubbed his palms together. Jim knew what to expect. He had seen Spock do that gesture countless times before, when he prepared for a mind-meld. Jim felt excited at the prospect. It felt so intimate!

Since Jim did not oppose him, Spock placed his fingers to the mind-meld points. ‘Try to relax,’ he instructed Jim. ‘I will not see anything you do not wish me to see. Open your mind. Open your world for me, Jim.’ Jim obeyed as well as he could.

First he didn’t feel a thing. Jim concentrated on Spock’s fingers on his skin, and expected to feel something around those areas. Tingling, maybe, or heat, but there was nothing. Spock’s touch was very light and not at all painful, unlike Jim had expected.

‘My mind to your mind,’ whispered Spock. Jim stiffened. Now he felt something, like a very thin strand of silk touching his skin. The touch began from Spock’s fingertips. Parts of the silky ribbon fell on his cheeks, brow and temples; other strands fell down his chin and neck. Where the strands ended gentle warmth penetrated his skin and merged to his body and mind. Jim felt his heart racing as the unknown and unseen force entered him.

‘Hush, my love,’ whispered Spock, his eyes closed and his head bowed in concentration. Remotely Spock noted how Jim began to breathe slower, and opened his clenched fists slowly opened. Spock increased the mental bond he was building between them. His own body radiated heat and calmness. With strict control Spock let that warmth crawl over his fingers to Jim, until the unseen aura of mental bonding enveloped them both. Spock concentrated to a tiny speck of his mind and sent it over through the link.

Jim started. His eyes were closed, but he saw a barren landscape as clearly as if he had been there. T’Khasi, Spock said inside his mind. Stunned, Jim wondered at the image before his eyes. It was a desert in all the shades of orange and red and brown, seemingly dead but still alive. Jim spotted a tiny lizard in the shadow of a dead branch, and felt the hot winds of the desert planet. He squeezed his closed eyes to shield his vision from the sun.

Is this your home? Jim thought. Yes, replied Spock. His mental voice felt reassuring, like an old, pleasant memory. Spock fought to keep control, to let his thoughts run to Jim as tiny drops instead of the raging river he felt inside him.

Jim began to feel longing, yearning. Now the images in his mind started to change rapidly. He saw himself on the bridge of the Enterprise, saw himself smiling and heard his own voice. He saw himself many times in many places, and all the time the yearning and longing intensified. I’m seeing his thoughts, Jim realized. This is how he sees and remembers me.

The images changed rapidly. Jim felt a sense of duty so strong it almost choked him. And then he saw tens, no, hundreds of building blocks stacked to a tower tens of meters high. Vulcan meditation, he understood. He saw his face appear behind the tower, and saw the tower crumble to bits. He watched how the tower began to rise again, heard his own voice and saw the tower collapse again.

Jim understood.

I distract you from your duties, he thought. The Kolinahr… it will help you to master those distractions?

Yes, Spock whispered inside Jim’s mind.

Then Jim saw himself looking at strange scripts with beautiful, ornamental characters. He felt his every cell focused at the study of those characters. The image changed, and he saw himself, smiling, and immediately his body was on fire with passion. Jim’s mouth gaped open. This is how he feels about me!

Spock knew Jim had understood. But he was now in control. This was his medium, his way of communication. His own turf. He remembered all those times Jim had jested about him aboard the Enterprise, and how he and McCoy had laughed at Spock. This would be his revenge.

You think the Vulcans have no emotions? That we have a heart of stone, that our beds are cold and our fantasies of numbers and logic? Spock sent the question to Jim, and watched how the human furrowed his brow.

Inside his mind, Spock grinned like a wolf.

Jim felt his mind calm down, and heaved a long sigh. He was about to thank Spock for the mind-meld, when his entire mind exploded. The calming warmth turned to fiery inferno, and engulfed Jim from head to toe. But the fire did not burn. It was the fire of feral lust, primitive need, absolute desire. In a matter of seconds his body responded: his neurons began to fire at full power, his adrenaline levels surged and his blood turned to lava in his veins. A drop of sweat ran down his forehead. Without any shame at all Jim felt the hardest and largest erection he had ever had pressing against his trousers. His fingers clenched in a vain attempt to grab at soft skin, and his pelvis shook as his body tried frantically to mate with someone who was not there.

Jim saw an image of himself, half naked and grinning. Without a second of a doubt he leaped at the image like a stallion charges a mare in heat. His boxers, which already felt several sizes too small, were now also moist with pre-ejaculate.

Spock’s grin widened. His mental self growled. Deliberately he pulled back the warmth he had spread over Jim, breaking the mind-meld softly but certainly.

Panting heavily, Jim opened his eyes in wonder. He stared at Spock like he had never seen him before. Spock raised his eyebrow and cocked his head, a picture of confused innocence. Jim tried to speak, but no words came out. He felt his erection fading, and apparently all blood ran straight to his cheeks, for he actually blushed in embarrassment.

‘I see,’ Jim finally agreed. If that was how Vulcan’s experienced passion it was no wonder they wanted to control it. He shuddered and shook himself to get rid of the immense amounts of adrenaline his body had produced.

‘So that’s how it is, then,’ he continued, just to fill the awkward silence with something. ‘Spock?’

‘Jim?’

‘I don’t give a damn about who won the game of chess. I know what I want.’

‘And what is that?’ Spock asked, knowing full well what it was.

Jim looked at him askance, then raised his head and stared defiantly at Spock. He grabbed Spock’s shirt, yanked the Vulcan against himself and kissed his lips forcefully. Spock tried to gasp for breath, but Jim held him still and pushed his tongue into Spock’s invitingly open mouth. Jim sucked on Spock’s tongue and lips, and felt the recent fire returning to his veins.

For a second Jim let his lips part from Spock’s. ‘You,’ he growled, his voice thick and throaty. ‘I want you.’

Jim kissed Spock all the while he pushed the Vulcan towards the bed. The rituals and returns to Vulcan could damn well wait. He had no more patience for uncertainty and longing. For over a year he had waited for his man, touched himself while thinking of this gorgeous Vulcan man, and right now Jim would bloody well have him.

‘I. Want. You.’


	5. Chapter 5

Jim kept his eyes locked to Spock’s. He wanted to make sure the Vulcan could see the passion in his eyes, and hoped to see the same fire reflected back in the eyes of his dear friend. The air around them crackled with tension. Jim was gripping the front of Spock’s shirt. When Spock bumped against Jim’s bed the human stopped pushing, lowered his fingers to the hem of Spock’s shirt and tugged it up in a demanding fashion. Spock, who was taller than Jim, helped: he pulled his own shirt away with one quick move.

Jim gasped. Spock’s chest was muscular and so beautiful! He had soft, jet black hairs over his chest; Jim pressed his cheek against the fur. Spock ran his fingers through Jim’s golden hair, stroked his neck and shoulders, and ran his hands down Jim’s strong back. There was a quiet, pleaser murmur as Spock reached for the hem of Jim’s shirt and pulled it away over the human’s head. It was all Jim could do not to throw Spock to the bed and take him there and then.

The bed squeaked as Spock sat down and pulled Jim to the bed with him. They sat side by side, embracing, enjoying the friction between their naked upper bodies as they rubbed against each other. Jim nuzzled the sensitive area between Spock’s neck and shoulder. His parted lips brushed Spock’s skin, and he kissed the beautifully curving neck once, twice, and again. Spock bent his head like a swan to allow Jim to kiss his throat, collarbones and ear lobes. His skin felt cold where it was wet with saliva, but at the same time each kiss sent hot waves dancing through his entire body. His eyes closed, Spock inhaled deeply and smelled Jim’s lust. It was a deep, masculine scent, sugary, strong and incredibly arousing.

Jim barely felt Spock’s hands on his body. He ran his gaze over the wonderful body of the Vulcan, and let his lips and tongue write his admiration on the pale skin. This man was his, his alone. His own Spock. Jim ran a tentative finger over Spock’s nipple and felt how it grew hard under his touch. The nipple perked up as if begging to be touched. Jim crouched down, kissed Spock’s pectorals and ran his tongue around one nipple before biting gently on the tender nub. 

Jim could have teased Spock for hours like this. He kissed, bit, licked and caressed him all over, but the Vulcan had other plans. With one swift movement Spock threw Jim on his back to the bed, and crawled on top of him.

‘Jim,’ he whispered with a husky voice. ‘Are you certain about this?’

For a moment Jim looked confused. About what? What’s he about to do? 

‘Vulcans are touch-telepaths. It takes self-control not to transfer or read thoughts and emotions while physically touching another,’ Spock explained, caressing Jim’s bronze skin carefully. Impatiently, Jim tried to pull Spock against him, but the Vulcan resisted and stayed seated. ‘During… intimate moments the control may be lost.’

‘So you’re saying that if we … get intimate,’ Jim formulated, ‘you may accidentally hit me with another mental wrecking ball of animalistic need for sex?’ Jim remembered how it had felt just a few minutes ago, when Spock had served him a dose of Vulcan passion. The memory made his boxers shrink even more. Spock nodded in agreement, and Jim grinned like a tomcat in heat. The possibility of another mind-meld was a definite turn-on.

Later neither could remember how it all had happened. Filled with lust and passion Jim tore their clothes off, threw them around the apartment and attacked Spock with all his fervor. Over and over again he made Spock moan by scratching his back while kissing and biting his neck, drawing a necklace of purple love bites around the Vulcan’s neck. Their bodies entwined and got tangled in the sheets as they touched and learned, kissed and studied each other. No spot was left untouched as they sought out for the most sensitive areas. Nothing was held back. Nothing was denied.

‘Spock,’ said Jim dreamily as they were laying side by side, cooling off.

‘Jim?’ asked Spock.

‘Nothing. I just … you’re here. I can’t believe you’re here.’ Jim moved his hand an inch, and immediately felt Spock there, next to him. He felt instantly calmer. Jim understood what the romantics meant by saying that two people draw strength from one another.

‘It’s like those words you spoke with your ex-missus during the … the thing, the mating frenzy. How was it again? Apart but never parted?’’

Spock turned on his side, leaned his head against his hand and looked at Jim gently. He thought for a while to remember the English words for the ritual meeting. ‘Parted from me and never parted. Never and always touching and touched,’ he said then, his hand caressing Jim’s cheek.

Jim felt something like a mild electric shock. Spock felt it too, and pulled his hand away in astonishment. Jim’s eyes went wide. Spock furrowed his brow, deep in thought. Could it be? he thought. Jim lay absolutely still as Spock sat up and placed his fingers again on the mind-meld points on Jim’s face. Jim nodded almost imperceptibly. He tried to prepare for what was to come – if only he knew what it was!

Electric shocks hit both Spock and Jim. They hurt only little, but felt strangely like the currents reached much deeper than their skins. It was like those strands of silk Jim had experienced during the earlier mind-meld, only much sharper, stronger and … hungrier, somehow, as if they wanted to seek out Jim’s soul and burrow there. It did not feel threatening. Jim imagined this was what some religious people would call the touch of God.

Spock closed his eyes and focused to the mind-meld. This time Jim’s mind was already open for him. Distantly Spock admired the incredible mental capacity of the human and the speed with which he learned. A few tentative drops of thought passed between them as Spock sent reassuring emotions to Jim. He felt how the man’s facial muscles relaxed under his fingers.

Spock saw two bright spots of light in his mind, like two flickering will-o’-the-wisps. One was red as the sands of Vulcan, the other blue as the vast oceans of the Earth. Spock imagined the red light moving closer to the blue one. As the distance between the lights decreased, they both intensified, until it was impossible to tell them apart from the searing bright light which filled Spock’s mind.

But I was bonded to T’Pring, never to Jim! How can this be? Spock remembered old tales of being bonded without bonding, tales of true thy’las, who belonged to one another. Their souls were one. They shared their lives, they were... Spock understood now. The words he had said. That was what it was to be truly thy’la. He repeated the words, and felt the currents running all over his body, jumping from his fingers to Jim and enveloping them both. ‘Parted from me and never parted. Never and always touching and touched.’

‘Our minds, one and together . . . Touching, yet not touching; apart, yet never apart,’ intoned Jim dreamily. He hadn’t planned on saying the words, they just came out. He did not know their meaning, but Spock recognized the phrase: it was used when children were bonded to one another. There was always an older master present, but who knew what was required when two people, who were truly thy’la, attempted to bond? With visible effort Spock pushed his conscious mind aside.

The electric currents became painful. They whipped their skins, while the lights inside Spock’s mind were so bright it was difficult even to think straight. Spock knew the words, but let his unconsciousness bring them to his lips. The currents sent forking lightning bolts to his mind and body as he whispered: ‘Touching, yet not touching; apart, yet never apart.’

Jim yelped quietly. He, too, saw now the blinding bright light which was their bond. Behind the radiance he could barely make out an ethereal image of Spock. This is us, Jim thought in astonishment. The electricity within him sent tendrils to his mind, to the impossibly bright spots of light, and bound them together. Where there had been two separate lights was now only one. It glowed blue and red, white and black all at the same time, until it began to fade. Before it faded entirely the light exploded one last time in a column of pure light.

’We are one,’ Spock and Jim said in perfect unison. The light faded away, the electric currents retreated and disappeared. But the ethereal image of Spock remained in Jim’s mind, and he knew, with absolute certainty, that Spock saw a similar image of him.

When Jim opened his eyes he saw Spock looking at him, his dark eyes full of tenderness and love. Now Jim understood as well. They were one. They had always been one. Where Spock would now be, Jim would be with him; apart but never apart.

Jim would not have been Jim if he hadn’t suddenly thought of a very tempting possibility. He thought of that massive mental punch he had received from Spock earlier, the one which had left him, Jim, with an immense boner and horny as a teenage boy. Could he do that to Spock now? How far could Spock be for the thought transmission to work? Could he, for example, be monitoring an exam here in the Academy, and give Spock a mental blow-job even if the Vulcan was on his home planet? Would it work vice versa as well?

Spock saw how Jim’s eyes light up and how the corners of his mouth turned up in a mischievous grin.

***

Jim was still waving after the shuttle had disappeared beyond the grey clouds which covered the whole sky. The sky was crying like it had cried when they met two weeks ago. Jim remembered how they had sat on that park bench and how he had held Spock in his arms. He remembered how they had kissed later that night, and how they had made love, hour after hour, night after night. Spock was gone. Jim returned to his apartment alone, ate alone, went to bed alone. He closed his eyes… and Spock was there. Jim smiled.

Thousands of kilometers away, in a science vessel speeding towards Vulcan, Spock was lying in a small bunk. He, too, was smiling.

The ethereal Jim embraced the equally ethereal Spock. They kissed, the stars in their eyes shining brightly. Together their astral voices whispered: ‘Apart but never apart’.


End file.
